CHAPTER 71: CH 71: SECURING THE IMP- PART 2

Fenrir returned to his lab in silence, mentally reviewing the new additions to his familiar roster and the progress on the forge Grizzle was working on.

But just as he was about to begin reorganizing his ingredients, a message pinged on his tablet. It was from Fredric.

[Fredric: We’ve hit a wall. Every attempt to replicate your potion has ended in minor explosions. Are you sure the instructions you gave us were correct?]

Fenrir raised an eyebrow, typing out his reply.

[Fenrir: Use the exact ingredient list and steps I sent. It’s not complicated.]

[Fredric: We did. Multiple times. Same result. It’s not just a failure—it’s unstable. One even melted through a reinforced table.]

Fenrir stared at the screen for a moment before sighing and grabbing his coat.

[Fenrir: Fine. I’ll come over. I want to see this mess for myself.]

—

The lab owned by Legion’s main R&D branch was buzzing with suppressed anxiety when Fenrir arrived.

People glanced at him from the corners of their eyes—some curious, some confused, others just tired and frustrated.

Rick met him at the entrance, his expression tight but relieved.

"Glad you’re here. People have been burning through ingredients and progress reports like candy. We’ve lost three premium cauldrons already."

Rick said, not bothering with formalities.

Fenrir followed him down the corridor.

"What exactly are they doing?"

"Following your notes to the letter, supposedly. But it’s not just that they fail—they get violently rejected. And the lab’s morale is going downhill fast."

Rick said.

They reached the main brewing chamber, and Fenrir immediately noticed the mess.

Scorch marks on the walls, broken shelves, and multiple containment units had been set up around each potion station to minimize the damage from further failures.

Several hunter-scientists were trying again, their expressions grim.

A glowing mixture in one cauldron suddenly hissed and cracked, and they all flinched.

"I’m going to need a demonstration."

Fenrir said simply.

One of the hunters nodded and got to work, pulling out the exact list of ingredients Fenrir had outlined.

Fenrir watched closely as the man started channeling mana through the potion—a soft blue glow wrapping around the liquid. Within seconds, the potion began to vibrate violently.

"Stop. Your mana flow’s all wrong."

Fenrir ordered, stepping in quickly.

The hunter looked at him in confusion.

"I followed the sequence in the instructions—circle, spread, spiral... exactly as written."

Fenrir narrowed his eyes and stepped closer.

"Let me guide your flow for a second."

He pressed two fingers to the hunter’s arm and reached in with his mana.

Immediately, he felt resistance. Not the kind caused by tension or nervousness—no, this was structural.

The mana circuits in the hunter’s body were... strange. Bent, twisted in ways that made control nearly impossible.

His mana rejected Fenrir’s influence like oil repelling water.

Fenrir pulled back slowly.

"...That’s not going to work."

Rick raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"His circuits are completely off. His mana doesn’t flow like mine. Or like what’s needed for the potion. It’s... too unstable. Too noisy."

Fenrir said.

"Isn’t that just how hunters are?"

Asked one of the nearby assistants.

"Exactly. You’re all too changed. Your bodies, your circuits, your mana—it’s adapted to modern combat, not delicate alchemy. You’re built for brute force. Not finesse."

Fenrir muttered, his mind racing.

"So... you’re saying no one else can do it?"

Rick asked, stepping closer.

Fenrir hesitated.

"Not the way I can. Not using this method."

"Then how come you can? What’s different about you?"

Rick asked.

Fenrir opened his mouth, then stopped. He had a suspicion. Something he’d pushed aside until now.

But he chose not to say.

All Fenrir said was the following.

"I don’t know. Maybe I was just born lucky to be able to do this. But we should likely not waste time on this."

Fenrir’s words were calm, but the people around him did not look calm.

The scientist hunters looked like they had seen and done things they did not even expect to do.

Rick looked visibly irritated as he stared at the broken cauldron and then turned back to Fenrir with a scowl.

"You do realize what this means for us, right? If you’re the only one who can make these potions, we can’t keep up with demand. This whole operation will collapse under the pressure."

Fenrir, who had already turned to leave, stopped and looked over his shoulder with a calm expression.

"Relax. I can batch-make them. If I push myself, I can do a hundred potions of each type."

Rick blinked.

"A hundred?"

"Strength, stamina, resistance, and rejuvenation. That’s four hundred potions total."

Fenrir clarified.

Rick crossed his arms, still clearly displeased.

"That’s barely a drop in the ocean compared to the number of orders we’re getting."

"I know. But I also have other projects. Research, exploration, crafting. I’m not going to turn into a potion machine for the world’s convenience. This is what I can manage without compromising quality. Take it or leave it."

Fenrir said with a shrug.

Rick ran a hand down his face and sighed.

"Fredric’s not going to like this."

Fenrir smirked.

"When does he ever like bad news?"

Rick shook his head.

"I’ll inform him and the marketing team. They’ll need to adjust expectations and start planning around limited batch releases."

"To soften the blow, you can collect the batch tomorrow from my lab. Let them know the first supply drop’s ready."

Fenrir added.

Rick looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.

"Fine. But you better brace yourself for the social media storm that’s coming. Once this goes public, people are going to lose it."

"I’ll be fine. I’ve already dealt with worse.

Fenrir said with a faint smile.

—

Fenrir returned to his personal lab that evening and wasted no time. With practiced efficiency, he began brewing.

His movements were smooth, precise—no hesitation, no wasted energy. Hours passed as he guided the mana through the potions with care, stabilizing each formula by hand.

The ingredients dwindled quickly, but by the time the sun rose the next morning, four neat rows of shimmering vials stood in front of him—exactly one hundred of each type.

He let out a long breath and leaned back in his chair, exhausted but satisfied. His supply was gone, but the work was done.

Later that morning, Rick arrived and looked over the vials with silent approval.

"This should buy us a bit of time. But once this hits the public channels..."

He admitted.

"I know. Just make sure no one tries to resell them under the table."

Fenrir said, handing him the storage crate.

Rick snorted.

"That’s a lost cause."

"Then at least don’t let them overcharge."

Rick turned to leave but paused at the doorway.

"Good luck, Fenrir. You’ll need it."

Fenrir watched him go, then turned back to his notes with a smirk.

"Let them come."

"You do realize that your brother would kill us if anything happens to you, right? Sometimes, he is even more scary than the top hunters. He has too much money and influence to not only ruin you socially, but also financially and emotionally."

Rick complained but Fenrir just gave him a look that asked - ’so what’, making him realize that Fenrir was the same uncaring type as his brother.